Like This
by icanhearyouglaring
Summary: Things don't make sense anymore, or at least as much sense as fighting the literal god of war at a German military base; or maybe they do, and this is life now, and Steve's just got a hundred years worth of catching up to do. (A Fix-it fic)
1. a flash

There is a flash, before the gas canisters burst.

Steve doesn't see it.

His eyes are screwed shut, his mouth quirked into an untimely smile, his finger still pressed against the trigger of the gun in his steady hand. In between the seconds, when the crack of the gun has yet to sound and the bullet is but millimeters out of the barrel, there is a _flash_.

(Later, Steve learns that it was _The_ Flash, and that things don't make sense anymore, or at least as much sense as fighting the literal god of war at a German military base; or maybe they do, and this is life now, and he's just got a hundred years worth of catching up to do.)

-o-

When Steve opens his eyes, he is sure he is dead. How could he not be when there's an angel standing beside him, staring him straight in the face? They are just how he imagined them to be (in the last moments of his life, at least): dark hair tumbling over sculpted shoulders, an honest smile accompanied by silent laughter, and best of all big brown eyes, full of unabashed hope and love and wonder and – well, the tears weren't products of his imagination, but dead men probably shouldn't complain about heaven not meeting their expectations.

The angel speaks (and the voice is one he thought he'd never hear again, repeating the last thing she said to him in a tone so different yet so similar to the shout on the tarmac).

"Steve."

"Hi," Steve answers quietly, staring up and the angel and wondering why the sky in heaven was so dark and cave-like. If anything, that was supposed to be the sky in the _other place_. And this was _definitely_ not the other place.

"It's really you," says the angel, still breathily laughing as she swipes her fingers across his forehead and pushes his hair out of his face.

"Yeah," Steve says with small laugh of his own, unsure of the joke but delighted all the same, "it's really me."

With her help, he sits up in the bed, and it's then that he realizes he might not be dead after all, and that they are not alone.

There are others standing in the shadows; a man shrouded in black, another in red, another in blue– none smile the way Diana does and that would concern him but–

 _Diana._

"Diana," Steve says softly, blinking away the haze of his thoughts of heaven.

She nods at him to continue, reaching out to take his hand. He feels more breathless now than when he was flying the plane out of range.

"I'm alive?" He asks, already knowing the answer.

"You are." Diana smiles, all teeth, and repeats, "You are."

And with that, Steve sits up straighter and the questions pour out of his mouth without pause. "H-How? The plane? The– The gas? The War? _Ares_? You killed Ares? Where is everyone?"

"Slow down, Steve," Diana says, as she takes a seat beside him on the bed and tucks something into his trembling free hand. She closes his fingers over familiar smooth glass and weathered leather, and it feels like only a moment ago he was handing the watch over to her.

"The war is over. I defeated Ares. You're safe now, and I promise, I can answer every question you have later." Her eyes widen for a split second before she continues and says (mostly to herself), "We have time."

"Okay, okay," Steve says slowly, nodding steadily and moving closer to her. "Questions– Questions later then."

She kisses him, and it's just as perfect as their first. He has a sneaking suspicion that every one that follows will be perfect, too.


	2. new friends

"I am taking him home today."

It is not the first time Diana has said that this week, but this time her tone leaves no room for discussion. She moves around the room quickly, picking up Steve's few possessions and placing them in the suitcase at the foot of the bed. From the corner of the room, Steve tears his gaze away from her and looks to the person standing in the doorway.

"That wasn't the deal, Diana," Bruce says, his arms crossed and his mouth in a thin line (based solely on their minimal interactions, Steve is ninety percent sure it's stuck that way).

Diana closes the suitcase before she turns to face off with Bruce for the fourth time since Steve arrived.

"Yes, it was," she clips. "He does your tests, he gets to leave the lab."

Bruce shakes his head. "The test results were inconclusive. Removing him from isolation before we know he's ready puts him and everyone around him at risk."

This has been happening a lot: people talking about him like he's a) not there, b) dangerous, c) about to spontaneously turn into dust, or some mixture of the three. Their worry is warranted, as no one really has a clear cut answer on how time travel impacts the average guy. No one even _tries_ to explain it to Steve beyond ' _Barry can run through time because he has superpowers'_. Steve's a roll with the punches kind of guy though, and he can roll with that, seeing as these superpowers saved his life and brought him to Diana.

Diana, the only friend he has left.

"Nothing in those tests say he can't leave this room, that he can't see the sky or breathe fresh air," Diana argues, waving her hand at the windowless room Steve has been quarantined in for the last week. "If he wants to go, he should be free to do so. Otherwise, what is this but a glorified prison?"

Bruce stiffens. "This is _not_ a prison."

"It kind of is," Steve notes, and both Bruce and Diana turn to him as he pushes himself off the wall and languidly walks to Diana's side. "Four walls, no access to the outside, scheduled meals"– Steve nods his head at Bruce– "warden."

"You see?" Diana's expression tightens as she pulls the suitcase off the bed and onto the floor.

Bruce rubs his jaw and sighs. "What do you want me to do? He might, and that's a _strong_ might, be physically fine out in the world, but there is still a lot he doesn't know. The adjustments to daily life alone could be traumatizing."

Steve scoffs. "I wasn't born in 1800. Your lightbulbs don't scare me."

Diana shoots Steve an approving smile before she turns to Bruce and says, "I once stood in his shoes, Bruce. Man's world was just as foreign to me as today's will be to him. I adapted. He will, too. And he will be with me. It will be alright."

Steve believes her, but Bruce doesn't budge from the doorway, even as Diana takes a step forward. The silent standoff between Bruce and Diana is only broken by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall.

Steve takes hold of the suitcase handle at the same moment Clark places his hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"Diana's right," Clark says lightly, turning Bruce to the side so Diana and Steve can pass. "There's not much more we can do for Steve here. We can monitor his chronal signature and vitals remotely and check in, but I think it's past time to give the man his life back, right, Steve?"

Steve really likes Clark.

"Right," Steve says, stepping up next to Diana.

Bruce doesn't give Clark a second glance before he rolls his shoulders back, sighs, turns around, and starts walking down the hallway. "Fine. Go to the hangar, take him home. Alfred will pilot the I-Jet and make arrangements. I still want that monitor on him 24/7."

"Thank you, Bruce," Diana says, following Bruce with a satisfied smile. "Let's go home, Steve."

"Good man," Steve says as he passes Clark, and he follows Diana down the hall with his suitcase in tow.

While Bruce veers left at the fork in the hall, Diana turns right and a pair of elevator doors open for her. It's a lot more streamlined than the one Steve's used to using.

Clark waits for Steve and Diana to get in the elevator before he says, "There's something I need to speak to Bruce about. I'll see you two around."

"Thank you, Clark," Diana says, pressing a button on the wall of the elevator.

And as soon as the doors close, it feels like the first time they've been truly alone.

"You have good friends," Steve notes.

"Yes." Diana nods as the lift begins to rise.

Steve waits a moment before he asks, "Diana?"

"Yes?"

"Where is home?"

Because although they've been attached at the hip since he regained consciousness, they haven't spoken much about the specifics of her life today or how Steve fits into those specifics.

"Paris."

"Paris," Steve repeats, nodding slowly. "Nice. Uh, could we make a few stops before we get there?"

Diana nods, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together. "Of course. Where would you like to go?"

The words weigh heavy on him. "I'd like to see my friends."

Diana doesn't seem surprised by his request. She holds his hand tighter, stands closer beside him, and takes a deep breath as the elevator stops and the doors open.

"Let's go let Alfred know."


	3. taking flight

Steve is a pilot.

Well, he _used_ to be a pilot, but in this day and age, he's going to need a hell of a lot more training before he tries to fly one of the streamlined monsters in Bruce's hangar (and he will, someday, just not someday _soon_ ).

Diana takes pleasure in describing the technological feat that is the Invisible Jet (I-Jet for short) as they take their seats in the plane, the interior of which resembles a miniature version of the headquarters he'd gotten a glimpse of back in the Batcave. While not entirely invisible, it possesses unparalleled cloaking capabilities, making it virtually impossible for the naked eye or radar to catch it. The more she explains, the more Steve smiles and nods, attempting to shake away his racing thoughts.

Maybe before Steve would have been more interested in all of the technical details, but all his mind keep rushing back to is what happened the last time he was on a plane. Come to think of it, the last two planes he piloted ended up in pieces and he almost died twice (this plane doesn't even need a pilot, and that's a whole other thing he has to wrap his head around). Steve buckles the belt across his lap, looks across the table at Diana, and stops nodding. He trusts her (and he should– she's two for two on the saving-him-from-plane-wrecks front).

The plane begins to move and Steve can't help but tense in his seat. Diana raises a brow at him, but Alfred's voice projects through the cabin before Steve can explain that he is a pilot afraid of flying. _Thank you, Alfred._

"Hello, Miss Prince, Mr. Trevor, today's flight analysis projects minimal turbulence and an arrival time in Alberta of 22:41 local time. If you look to the East after takeoff, you'll see a spectacular sunset over the bay."

Diana presses a button above her seat and says, "Thank you, Alfred."

"My pleasure, Miss Prince. Should you need further assistance, I'll be monitoring the communication lines. Have a nice flight."

Steve stifles a short laugh, even as he nervously taps his fingers against the table in front of him.

Diana, eyes bright with intrigue, asks, "What?"

"A hundred years and you're still Diana Prince," Steve explains, as the plane moves faster and his heart rate does the same. "How do you get away with that? No one says you look a little young for your age?"

"Forging official documents has become somewhat of a hobby for me. I've lived in many places over the years, all over the world. No one has ever known Diana Prince long enough to suspect anything out of the ordinary. The photograph taken of us in Veld..." Diana looks down at the table for a moment before she looks back at Steve and continues, "Until very recently, that was the last time I was photographed in my armor. After the war, I became something of a myth. It was better that way. The world wasn't ready to acknowledge that I or others like me existed."

They've been over this, sort of, in the dead of night, when it was just the two of them talking about all of the things that, to Steve, happened in the blink of an eye but to Diana? _A century of horrors_ , she'd called it, and he can see the weight of living through it in her eyes (and not for the first time, he feels guilty; for crashing into her paradise, for bringing his world's problems to her, for leaving too soon). One day, he'll ask her what happened to make her turn away from the world for so long, but he's popped their bubble of happiness too many times this week with his constant, innocent questions taking far darker turns than he anticipates.

"Right... so, this has been on my mind," Steve begins, redirecting the conversation towards ( _hopefully_ ) lighter topics, "Superman, Batman, Aquaman, Cyborg, The Flash; everybody's got a stage name. What do they call you?"

"Before I answer that," she starts, a present, wry smile replacing the far off look on her face, "what do you think they should call me?"

"Oh, I don't know," Steve says, placing a hand on his chin before he offers, "Godkiller?"

"Godkiller." Diana shakes her head, shortly laughing in disbelief. "Now that would be something."

"Alright, not Godkiller," Steve concedes. "The Amazon? Fits the theme of the rest of the team. Diana, Princess of Themyscira? That's a little wordy."

"Just a little."

"What do they call you then?" Steve asks again.

Diana purses her lips before she explains, "After the attack on Gotham and Metropolis, the press took to calling me Wonder Woman. It stuck– even within the League."

"Accurate, appropriate, alliterate," Steve acknowledges, nodding. "I like it."

"I do, too," Diana says, smiling.

She unlocks the belt across her lap and stands, and Steve is suddenly reminded that they are on a plane and in the air and not in an underground headquarters anymore. His smile slips. When had they gotten into the air?

"Where are you going?" Steve asks, undoing his own seatbelt with haste.

"To watch the sunset over the bay," Diana says plainly, holding her arm out for him. "Care to join me?"

Steve is out of his seat in an instant, and he feels more at home than he has in years when he takes Diana's arm and says,

"Lead the way _, Wonder Woman_."


End file.
